WHY THE WOMAN MUST LEAVE THE KITCHEN

It seems that something has to be taken away for it to be appreciated. The electric goes out, but your culinary skills revolve around pushing buttons that say either 'meat', 'fish', or 'popcorn'. The water is turned off. Yikes, poop won't flush with gravity alone. You're an American who decided not to vote in the 2004 election, cause you thought all politicians were the same. You're driver's license is suspended. You've been living on your own for a long time, pursuing your career. You called home out of holiday guilt. Maybe stopped by for a dinner when you were in town. Now Dad's dead. You decided to move to the Arabian Peninsula. The arrow landed on Yemen. Something isn't right. But what? The people treat you like a King. The weather is sunny and temperate. The food is tasty. The living is cheap. But public life seems a bit bland. It's social. There are people everywhere chatting, eating, laughing. But there's a lack of something. Something with color. And cheer. Something beautiful. Women. Christ, what took so long? Most people are used to always having both sexes around, and just figure that's how life goes. They probably don't have any more appreciation for one sex over the other, and could dole out complaints or compliments about either. Sure, there are women in Yemen, but men can't talk to them in public, and they appear merely as walking 'its' mourned in black, completely eviscerating their femininity. What we're talking about is the importance of woman's physicality, or her ability to utilize that any way she chooses. A note of warning: A bias piece will ensue, based on a heterosexual male's perspective.


The Arab Muslim's perception of woman revolves too much around the aspects of jealousy as it relates to sexual intercourse. There is a feeling that since men are natural procreators, apparently on constant prowl for a mate, that the only way such an appetite can be quelled is to turn women's public domain into a fashion show of asexuality. Responses from Yemeni men in particular, when questioned as to their views on the out-of-house female include, "I don't want any other man looking at my sister or wife" or "Men will harass the girl if she is not covered and will harm her" or "the only way to control our sexual urges is to prevent us from being aroused, which is why the women must remain like that" or "we are not permitted to have sex outside of marriage or before we marry so it is wrong for the women to tempt us" or the two generic fallbacks: "Islam says it must be" or simply "It's our culture."


Certain things can not be repressed. Isn't it Western Religion that came up with the Forbidden Fruit? Residents of secular societies, where relations with the sexes are open, and women have free choice in their dress and interactions, are so accustomed to open displays of sexuality that they are not consumed with thoughts of rape and harassment at every pass of tight jeans or exposed cleavage. Maybe it's why the Dutch don't really smoke that much Pot. And French college students don't get concussions doing KegStands. And why the Chinese don't get tattoos with their own lettering.


There is a duality that runs concurrently with Life. The Planet may know it as the Sun and the Moon. Soil and Water. Fire and Air. Electrons and Protons. Coke and Pepsi. And within the human realm, if we leave out eunuchs, transgenders, and Boy George, we have da Woman (sometimes referred to by its militant crewcut dykebitch man hating synonym 'womyn') and da Man.


Islam teaches that all life must be respected. From the tiniest organisms to the remotest trees to individuals of all races. And that Allah, or as some know him - The Dude… with the really long beard, created a beautiful world that we could see his (sorry womyn, but religious dictates mandate a masculine pronoun when referring to the master deity or high level prophet not currently a Wiccan) beauty all around us. Every living thing is said to be an embodiment of Allah, and whenever nature should enchant us, we are actually feeling the beauty that is Allah. Atheists claim it's all merely a result of evolution. And that every component of a living organism serves a purpose in its continued survival. So just as a deer should keep it's antlers, a woman wasn't born to have her body entombed by cloth. Amongst the mammal kingdom, what creature can deliver such beauty as the female human.


WHY THE FUCK WOULD AN ALL-LOVING GOD, WHO WANTS HIS SUBJECTS TO FEEL BEAUTY AT EVERY POSSIBLE MOMENT CHOOSE TO BLACK-OUT HIS MOST PRECIOUS CREATION?


Why should a Man miss the public appearance of a free willed Woman?


Flirtation. A word so slandered that it begs like a Calcutta cripple of Mother MerriamWebster to bequeath a new title. It's very name implies infidelity. Or mischief. Something sinister. Others may argue it's merely a segue to friendship or mutually agreed upon intimacy. And there's that one guy in the bar who would just yell 'Cocktease' (I wonder if there is a woman in some bar, right now, berating a man for being a 'CuntTease.'). But he'd still spend the rest of his night talking to her.


And it's with that decision, when a man knows that he has no chance, or perhaps no real interest, to sleep with a woman, that the importance of flirtation begins to appear. The Muslims could argue that it's Allah speaking. It's within this paradigm that the power, the truly awe-inspiring power, of human sexuality can be felt. Intercourse certainly falls into this family. But it occupies a different level, as it has physical limitations, and can not be accessed on a continuous basis, throughout the day and night. Even with Viagra or a Swinger's Club Gold Membership (on sale at swingersgoldmembership.net, use promotion code 'fuk4less').


When a male waiter serves another male, the customer normally has a very forgettable experience. Not negative, but engaged in such an unconscious manner that no positive energy would have ever been felt. But before we give the clearly known example of female waitress encounters, let's digest the often overlooked Gay Male waiter to male customer interaction. Sure, among some men there is marked uncomfort that silently wishes that it would all go away, and Shirley would come back with his regular order of two over easy and a side of burnt hash. But a number of hetero identifying males will confess to flirting with their Gay Waiter. Is it cause they dig his tight Zcavaricci pants or nipple popping t-shirt? Maybe they are really the legions of latent homos that the United Homo Federation has been promising exist since the Kinsey Report. C'mon, aren't these guys who would really like to screw another guy but can't quite get the nerve to do it, so they defer to flirtation to get their rocks off? No. Well, at least the majority. They do it cause it feels good. Simple. They're playing with positive energy. A term those crystal wearing meditators of the NewAge, who reside in places like Sedona and Santa Fe, have ruined to the point of mockery. It's a two word set-up, but maybe that crippled Calcuttan can add another request to Mother Merriam. By appearing interested in the waiter's life, and laughing with him, and keeping a smile on, and maybe leaving out the customer's relationship status, then the waiter feels a sexual impulse toward this customer. To pursue the drive, the waiter responds with flattery, in a chance attempt that this encounter can lead to a passionate Dirty Sanchez in Stall number 4. The man at the table now feels desired. Wanted. Who doesn't want to feel wanted? Even misanthropes want that feeling. That's why they have dogs. Those hairy hermits in the Alaskan Wild, they may not have human company but you can bet an Eskimo's frozen ass that a pack of canines is crawled up in MooseJaw McDermott's bed, completely ignorant of a stench so foul that it could make "Wildflower Dog Poo" Target's potpourri of the month. So, you're feeling wanted. And you don't want it to stop. So you keep doing what got you Wanted in the first place. Flirting. Eventually, in most situations, at least one party will have to continue their day, having no sincere interest other then a short-lived positive encounter. And because one person is always in control, if the other party becomes determined that the flirtation is a genuine invite to Xanadu, then the controlling flirter only need remove him/herself and the opposing flirter will fly briefly into a post-flirtation dream cloud before recognizing that there was no hope of a real liason. So they'll continue in their mundane ways until the next flirt comes along, and Allah is showing himself once again. Ok. Sometimes the flirt continues. And both parties really enjoy it. And an issue arises when one side is feeling more serious then the other. Most common in workplaces. Make it known. Stop it. And the one who took things too serious will get over it. Why? Cause there's a million other women/men to flirt with. The joys of living in a sexually open society.


The Flirting Fenomenon is more widespread than many people consciously acknowledge. It's both a survival tactic and a quick way to feel good. This is not based on obvious sexual innuendo, but simply in the way one uses their eyes, the pitch in their voice, and their physical gestures. Watch a woman trying to get assistance from a male cop, or a woman dealing with an auto mechanic, an appliance repairman, the famed Cable Guy, the more famed landscaper and romance novel superstar, the Pool Boy. Not to mention innumerable sales people, co-workers, clients, and any other man who has something of value. Do these guys feel duped, led-on, angry? No way, they're probably 'buzzed' for the next hour off the way she made them feel. They realize there's no real opportunity there. But what if those encounters couldn't exist. Because the woman couldn't deal directly with the man, or because she was unable to show her physical beauty and therefore had nothing to flirt with, or just because she was raised to think that all men were going to corrupt her so her encounters should be limited. How fair is that? To deprive humanity of nature's fine little gift, a little diamond radiating out of a monotonous desert day. Shame. Yes, that's right. I say SHAME on the otherwise accommodating Yemenis. And the converse can easily be applied to men's dealings with the opposite sex, from his postal woman to his drycleaner to the girl at his local bakery. Home. Work. Sleep. How often in those robberbarons of time does one feel desired, feel special, and just down and out feel good? Flirting is a monetary tip transacted emotionally. And who doesn't feel a little better after getting an unexpected tip. It's a reminder of what it feels like to truly be alive, to feel the heart pumping force of your sexual being. In a land where only 50% of humanity publicly exists, its no wonder such high importance is placed on the Almighty, all-loving, all-beauty Allah. Cause without his perpetual striptease, life would be painfully mundane. Or incredibly homoerotic.


The power of a woman's smile. Unknown to those in the veil covered streets of Arabia. But a woman's smile is truly a portable little sun, available to tan all those who get in its ray. It's like arriving on the sea shore after driving across the desert. The sound of the gulls. The salt water smell. The warm breeze. The t-shirt shops depicting what a woman looks like after 10 beers. That first feel of pillowy grains under your bare feet. It's that. All at once. You only saw her for a brief second. But the smile stayed with you for far longer. A shitty day is forgotten about in an instant. Normally, people resort to harmful drugs to reach that point. And just as the male waiter scenario shows it doesn't have to be about sex, or lead to sex…the smiling woman doesn't have to conform to modern definitions of beauty. Maybe her teeth do. But even that can be overlooked. Have you ever gotten angry when a toothless granny flashed you a big ol' smile? Sure a pretty face helps. But even if she has to walk sideways through her front door, there is no way you're departing that smile with anything other then a good feeling. A man's smile doesn't exactly hurt. But it doesn't tingle the way a woman's does. Her smile is a natural Zoloft, spewing serotonin into a temporary Eden that has no place for mounting debt and the quarterly report that was due last Tuesday. Living in a world without a female's smile is a Kafkaesque imprisonment of Marxist despair. Look how serious all those Commy chicks were. That's the underlying secret to the Manifesto's failure, as it neglected to highlight the positive motivation that a woman's smile inspires. Probably the result of Karl spending too much time with a bunch of Blabbering Bourgeousie males obsessed more with the proletariat then the Power of Punani. If Marx and Engels wanted their societies to wait in day long lines for basic products and work tedious government jobs they should have had the common sense to realize that life without color, without fashion, and really without the sparkle of Her Smile was doomed to fail. All these balding CNN scholars preaching the innate desire that allegedly repressed people have for capitalist democracies led to the Red Star's entropy. Nonsense. If those states were only full of smiling fashionable women, the hammer and sickle would still be swinging today.


Fashion. It's the advent of clothing, against the wishes of the Creator, that have allowed women to showcase their beauty, regardless of figure. Good Fashion lets a woman highlight her natural figure rather then be anorexically ashamed of it. Men tend to get irritated at the shopping escapades most females relish, and your author, the esteemed Enrico, who once publicly lambasted a girlfriend for spending too much money on a pair of jeans because she claimed they 'fit just right and do you know how hard it is to find a good fitting pair of jeans?' has been converted by the most unlikely of sources. Arabian Islam. So I say to all you men ranting at your women's insatiable appetite for clothes -- Unleash your panty wearing Hound. Let her Go. And when she comes home, ask her to try it on. Complement her. And keep count of how many people, of both sexes, check her out. If the response is unflattering, then send her back to the Mall. Because the alternative is to live in a world of Ugly. And we don't want that. Imagine a city full of Lane Bryants. Or go the American MidWest. But look at India. Here's a sexually conservative country, in terms of promiscuity, that finds beauty on every street, in every village. Women choose from an endless pantheon of fabrics and jewels, and robe themselves in such a way that each is unique and the sidewalks are fully loaded arsenals of beauty. It's impossible to not be infected by it. The Muslims of East Africa dress in a similar manner, finding a way to cover their head loosely, with something colored rather then black and in a way that the face is still fully exposed. Just across the Red Sea, their Muslim brothers are faulting Islam, but it's clearly not the case. There are a number of women who get upset at their spouses/partners for looking at other women. But they wouldn't stop their hubbies from going to an art exhibit or taking a hike through the canyon, so why should they deny him another form of natural beauty. Lack of trust. Jealousy. The same issues Arab Muslims deal with. But talk to the non-jealous woman. And you'll usually find a lady of confidence. Understanding. Appreciation. And most likely, someone living in a relationship far more satisfying then those dominated by the Eyes-On-Me Only Gestapo.

Walking in streets, and sitting in restaurants vacant of females is akin to a night without stars, a lake without water, A hot fudge sundae without the fudge, a winter-time Hot shower with no hot water, Pillsbury Dough without the Man, Dr. Julius Irving without the Afro, Fantasy Island without the Little Plane Guy. And to shroud them in non-form fitting black is only insulting both sexes, and if anything, making men more curious about what lies beneath the fabric coffin.


Fashion is Art for the masses, whether you live in Paris or Po-dunkville. And a world without Art is Cold-War Communist. And who's forgotten the face of those dreary olive rag draped Soviets in Red Square. How festive did that look? Night of the Living Dead. Every day. Lucky for all that Glasnostian Gorb made good use of his supernatural head stain to transform Russians, and especially rusky women, into some of the finest female specimens walking today.


Good architecture, Murals, Gardens, Sculptures, Music…it's all Art that makes life more enjoyable. But fashion is the most readily accessible version of all. The senses are awakened, if not aroused. It's not only men who feel more alive when they come across a fashionable woman, as its normally the woman is doing the looking. To live in a world without fashion is akin to a life holed up in the gated communities of Wisteria Burqas and Frumpy Meadows. If urban environments are still able to tantalize and invigorate, their antagonist is the modern American suburb where Art has been reduced to a sort of overpriced mass manufactured communism where homes, furnishings, and fashions blend seamlessly to form giant gobs of vomit, blemishing the human potential for Beauty.


Intimacy. Not the kind on the bearskin rug in the Mountain Lodge with the Pleasure Chest unlocked. Just simple public displays of affection. Sure, some Western prudes harp about this, but they haven't gotten over their own version of Republican Arabian Repression. It would be pretty frightening if you never saw a couple holding hands, a goodbye drop-off kiss in the car, a hug on the corner, hands meeting over a table's candlelight, a deep kiss just out of the streetlight's glare. Why? Cause even when you're alone, on your way to somewhere, each of those instances is a reminder of something joyous you've experienced. Like that one song you hear on the radio. It's a pleasant flashback. A moment to dream. Maybe even covet, but that's not exactly negative, even if she is your neighbor's wife. It's another one of those little things in a free society that people take for granted. Those witnessed moments are a sweet reminder of something you've experienced and look forward to having again. To put this in straight guy's lingo: It's being drunk at 3am and seeing some dude wolfing down a big slice of pizza. That's all positive. Not a negative thought in your head. You're thinking, "man, I love the taste of pizza. I've had so many good slices of pizza in my life. Yum. I can taste it already. You know what. I think I want to get me a slice of that [Burp]." So you do. And you don't regret a single bite. If it wasn't for the public display of pizza eating, you would have never experienced that end of the night climax that thrust you into a peaceful slumber. Now imagine living in a world where you could get drunk but there was no one around when the bar closed eating a slice of pizza. No one to remind you of the tasty joys of debauched pizza sauce on crisp oven baked dough with Sausage. Not the little mouse crap Domino's variety but those thick spicy butcher slices. You don't know where you are and everything looks closed. Your buzz faded and now you feel like shit. You're not even thinking about food cause it doesn't seem feasible. You're just an angry drunk on his way to a bad night's sleep and a morning of liquid turd.


Female Friends with No oozing benefits. A guy needs them. And not for the power of flirtation, even if that is present, but rather for the dynamic that is unobtainable in male friendships. Some men like Oprah but they're not going to discuss it at the Poker Table. Others need tips on how to apply their eyeliner. A few need help on that tough knitting pattern. One or two need personal instruction on that pie crust, the one that one the regionals. And of course, plenty just want to bitch about that one reality tv show freak. A man should be able to go for dinner with a female friend, so he can discuss his relationship, his work life, his hobbies, whatever. Cause a woman is always going to give an entirely different perspective then a man, and its important for somebody trying to make a decision to draw a conclusion based on both sexes, as all issues have elements that fall into both the female and male categories. C'mon. Guys like chocolate. And brownies. And all manner of sweet things, but you don't see Peter and Joe meeting at the Sweet Shack for an afternoon chat. They can only do that with a lady friend. Guy's don't bring guys shopping with them. Since when did a straight man care what another straight man thought about his wardrobe? Many a relationship has been saved by a man's external platonic female friendships. So when Yemen men complain to other men about their relationships, which they invariably do, they're only going to be met with back-slapping support not constructive advice. Their wives will continue to suffer at the hands of an unhelpful husband. All those men do the same thing so how is he ever going to learn a woman's perspective in order to make things right.


But let us go back to those poor unsuspecting Arabians. Especially in Yemen. Look what happened in America after 300 years of conservative Puritan influence on sexual behaviours. The mass movement of the late 60's inspired a global change in sexual attitudes and changed the dynamics of family life forever. Plus, it increased the amount of bra toxins put into the air. And before that, at least the women could go as they pleased on the streets, and wear a variety of clothes. Couples even held hands. But imagine a culture where women have been off limits to men for at least 1500 years, through both physical visibility and public social interaction. The Sexual Revolution of Yemen will make the American 60's look like a Mississippi Baptist Revival. It's starting already. Peering out through the bottom of ninja frocks are bellbottom jeans and high heeled boots. Stores are openly selling lingerie and small t-shirts. And boys are using their mobile phones to watch downloaded videos of Flashdance era strippers. It's only a matter of time until the only thing under a woman's frumpy black frock are fishnets and a pair of nipple clamps. Women are now occupying more University space then men as schools have discovered that the Yemen woman is bright and driven compared to her slacking, family connection dependent male counterpart. Even the workplaces are seeing the benefit in employing women as they are said to have better attendance rates, take instruction better, and have an overall higher productivity rate. It's like being in Cuba in 1958. Or 1978 Iran. Or 1988 Berlin and Bucharest. You feel the momentum brewing. It's not a matter of 'IF', but 'WHEN.' When the Revolution hits, it will hit hard. Hospitals will be filled to capacity with cumshot wound victims. Imagine the ferocity with which ejaculate will unleash after a lifetime of captivity. The open galleries of mosques will be over-run with fornicating orgies redefining the call to prayer. Shouts of 'Oh Allah, OhOhOh..OhAllah, Oh my Allah, You're the Best, Oh my fuckin' Allah, you are amazing. I can't believe how good you are.'


The elders will have no choice but to accept that the youth have found a new way to discover the Almighty, and perhaps they too will join the fray. The women of The Revolution will make Pamela Anderson look like a pale-faced prude living alone in her feline frenzied home of cross guarded walls. Their undulating cleavage will provide ravines of prayer and hope for the minions of passing males. Two millennia of repression will lead to savage reprisals upon their breast-less captors. Women, who already are proving the better student and better employee in Yemen, will take full control. Men will be left to chew their narcotic leaves and drink tea, taunted by sexual possibilities but plagued by garter belt donning GI JANE ALIS waiting for the slightest provocation. Women will run the government, the businesses, the community. They'll fuck when they want to fuck. They'll use men for their sperm and leave them to wallow in their own self-absorbed laziness. Men will be reduced to groveling dogs, hanging out in disheveled packs, waiting for their masters to come home so they can beg for some scraps. And they'll be tormented by her sexuality. They'll be no flirting in this Revolutionary society. Only one sided tortures of desire. These Revolution Ladies will wear silk teddies and high heels just to run the smallest of errands. Cause they can. It's their world now. And around the house, they'll remain covered until the man has left for the day. And for those women who think the treatment is harsh, old video clips will run daily on the telly depicting life before the Revolution. Queen Sheba shall at last return to the Arabian Peninsula. Sure, the divorce rate will increase, and the birth rate may drop below one, but daily life will never prove dull. And once that first generation of naysaying men croak off into their subterranean hells of pigfire, a future Male will see those replaying videos, out of the corner of his eye, when he's making out on his working mother's couch with that girl, with the dyed green hair and nice rack, the one in Mr. Al-Khoud's 3rd hour Geometry Class, and wonder how anybody ever lived like that.


This is Al-Qaeda's real complaint. They're tired of being cockteased by American movies. They've seen all the Red Shoes Diaries they can handle, even with the subtitles. If they see one more film with Sandra Bullock in it, another building is going down. And they're really fed up with Katie Couric. She's just not cute to them anymore. These are merely an angry band of sexually repressed men, who don't have the courage to free the Muslim woman. They only know how to abuse select passages of the Koran. But, c'mon, they're men. Culture, Religion, it's all a façade. Whoever bestowed the Almighty Creation didn't differentiate between continents. A happy man is a man who has physically visible access to free women. These guys, these poor terror mongers have been subject to racial discrimination. Men prefer women of their own ilk. Otherwise you'd see more Mexicans marrying the Chinese (strange coupling, good dinner menu). But they've had no choice as the local society gives them no outlet. What they need is a fellow muslim babe to flirt with over a bowl of falafel. They need to feel the smile of a woman on her way to the madrassa. They need to be uplifted from their dreary ascetic ways by a rainbow of curves and bounces teeming in the streets. And they need a new female strategy on how to deal with Khalid's refusal to bomb that embassy after his wife chewed him out for spending all his time in the caves while neglecting his family, and forgetting to attend little Abdul's 1st Koran recital. If the Women revolt, and show their natural selves, there is no way these fundamentalist freaks can remain in pissed off jihad mode. You only need look at the religious population of America. Despite pronounced secularism, America remains a deeply religious country, with many people falling into the fundamental extreme religious camp. But why aren't they bombing and terrorizing (abortion clinics are not really related to a woman's ability to express beauty), when the way many American women dress and act is in direct opposition to their beliefs. Here's why. Cause every day, on their way to that solemn household where a large wooden cross hangs somberly over the white lattice tablecloth harboring a Tupperware bin of day old apple pie, or journeying to their Sanctuary of Prayer, they chance upon some beautiful woman. She may smile at him, or flirt a bit. But most likely she simply passed by. And despite his most public convictions, he felt good, even for an instant. So, like a typical Republican, he may continue to pontificate the evils of modern feminism, but late at night, when his imagined parishioners are nowhere near, and he's falling asleep on his worn plaid lazy-boy, a feeling of joy will appear upon the memory of Her. Fleeting, perhaps, but an apt deterrent to any sincere hope of repression. In the end, if anyone is going to tease the cocks of Terror, it's going to have to be the Women of Arabia. They're the only ones with the finesse to soften rigidity.